Bloodstream
by Granada-apple
Summary: Inspired by the film For Lovers Only by the Polish Brothers, this is set five years after Castle and Beckett have ended their partnership.  Chapter four updated.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I do not own Castle, For Lovers Only or the song Bloodstream by Stateless. This story is merely inspired by all of the above. **

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><p><strong>Chapter One<strong>

_I think I might've inhaled you_

_I could feel you behind my eyes_

_You've gotten into my bloodstream_

_I could feel you floating in me_

A familiar blast of cold air assaulted Rick's face and neck the moment he straightened from the exit of the private jet. New York City. Here he was again in the town that never sleeps; the town many assume to be of his birth and success. All he remembered was a piece of him dying inside this city, and the rest of him with too much winter in his bones to be sun-drenched by the laughter of Los Angeles, the place he called his new home.

It had been five whole years since he had stepped foot into the city he used to love, and he would not have been here now had Paula, his book agent, not exclaimed for him to grow up and return for an important editor's meeting.

The truth was Richard Castle had not published anything for the last five years. After a long and weary drought, he had tried to regain a part of himself by beginning a novella. The editors did not like it. It was too dark, they had commented. It would not have appealed to readers. It seemed that he had forgot how to write about magic and love and hope and warmth. His work made their hearts sink, as if that was his aim, as if he wanted them as company. His melancholy seemed to seep out of him and bleed into the ink.

Everything he wrote was about her and for her. Even the way he described the weather was to find pieces of her – in the snow, in the wind, in the dark cloak of a night sky that only seemed to consume him.

So, he had only survived these past few years by distributing rights to the Nikki Heat movies, allowing graphic artists to develop Derrick Storm, and riding on a past glory that no longer felt like his.

Rick surveyed the LaGuardia airport slowly. Small airplanes dotted the largely empty area, and people were milling towards metallic doors that invited them into warmth. Instead of seeing excited tourists and returning New Yorkers, he recalled the images of a particular night at another hangar, images that were burnt into his brain no matter how long ago it seemed.

He remembered the way her screams seared through him like electric shocks, he remembered the hysteria drowning her eyes, he remembered the way she slid down under his weight, and he remembered thinking he had to carry the world for her now. He would breathe for her, if she could no longer do so. He remembered forcing her away from the mentor they both loved, knowing full well he would no longer be standing when they returned. He remembered only thinking about how if she had died, if he had not pulled her away, how he would not have survived.

It seemed he had not survived either way.

Sighing and blinking the images away so easily it only reminded him of how practised the action was, Rick strode silently into the immigration checkpoint. It was still early in the morning, so the line at the guarded area was not long. Although Rick could commission a private jet, he had felt it necessary to arrive in New York at a time where fewer people were around.

As he joined the end of the slow-moving line, he was once again reminded of another memory related to her – this one of him in the airport waiting to board the plane to Los Angeles, knowing that she was boarding the same plane in a quest for justice for her training officer, the love of her past life. Kate Beckett had guarded her heart so jealously that he had wondered how Mike Royce could have thrown it all away when she so gladly bestowed it upon him so long ago. It was all in the past now, and Rick could no longer marvel at the mysteries of her heart.

He could not help but think about how strange the affairs of the human heart were. As soon as Kate was absent from his life, she only became more painfully present. She filled every single gap of his being, seeped into every nook and cranny of his life, appeared on walls and street corners, came up in every pause in every conversation, and she filled him. She filled him the way sand fills an hourglass, until she squeezed him dry.

Finally, Rick reached the checkpoint. The immigration officer on duty smiled at him amiably, and Rick wondered if he could see the pain in him.

"Welcome to New York, sir."

Rick managed a tight smile, and a ghost of a frown seemed to pass the officer's face, as if he sensed Rick's unhappiness.

"Business or pleasure?"

"Purely business," Rick said, sliding the young man his passport.

"Oh, but you're in the city that never sleeps! You should go out and have some fun at night. Watch a Broadway musical or something." The officer seemed to lend Rick a benign smile that promised everything was going to be all right. Oh, will it kill you to smile? He seemed to be saying with his eyes. "I guarantee you will love New York, sir."

"Hmmm, I don't like it very much, not anymore." Rick said, almost apologetically, but his mind filled instantly with images of Kate again. This left the officer with nothing to say, a situation that seemed to make him nervous, so when Rick received his freshly stamped passport from the officer, he nodded and said, "Well, have a nice day."

He walked further into the airport and towards the gateway to New York City. He could not help but wonder if he had transformed, if he had altered from being an essentially happy and optimistic person to becoming a fundamentally depressed man, one who would make good material for a novel. Only, there was no metaphorical salvation for him, and if there was no Kate, he needed no salvation. There seemed to be no one else that could replace the room in his heart he had carved out so carefully for her and that she had ripped from him, like pulling an IV wire off his needy diseased being.

This did not mean he had not tried though. Succumbing to the glamorous life of Los Angeles, he had attended premiere after premiere, threw parties after parties, trying to remember what it was about the socialite universe that had been so attractive before. He remained charming, and to the world he retained the persona that they assumed was also him. But when he cracked jokes, he hated himself for desiring an expected eye-roll, when all he got was affected laughter and too affectionate arm caresses.

A series of automatic doors indicated to him that he was finally exiting the airport. Stepping out to embrace the chilly winter air once again, Rick closed his eyes and breathed.

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><p>The yellow cab dropped him and his luggage a few blocks from his hotel, as he had instructed. Midtown was familiar to him and he felt like taking a morning stroll, just to soak up the city and try to remember it the way he used to love it. The streets were mostly empty and they smelled of morning dew and Chinese food.<p>

Turning a street corner, Rick lifted his head to meet a concrete, worn flight of stairs. He seemed to recall a string of shops along this street, and a coffee place he used to love, but it was too early in the morning for this part of the city to be crowded. The pavement was laced with a few early risers, and only one well-dressed woman was descending the flight of stairs Rick began to ascend. He climbed a few steps up and – oh God.

The woman going down the stairs was Kate Beckett.

He felt instantly like he was drowning from an amalgamation of words and emotions that jammed at the back of his throat.

He could not breathe.

His sudden lack of movement caught Kate's attention and she noticed him too. She stopped. Her eyes locked on to his, wide with alarm and disbelief.

If he reflected upon it later, he knew it would not have been true, but at that moment, the world seemed to dissolve around them. Her stillness only matched his, and his only matched the incapacity of the world to move around him. He could only take her in. She was wearing a brown overcoat with large cotton buttons and an understated pair of black boots. When his mind finally rediscovered language, the thought crossed his mind that perhaps the cosmic force of how the more you think about someone, the more likely the person were to appear was true.

The light fell across her face like a stream of gold, and she would have looked like the aloof goddess he used to know, except that he could not place her expression. The shock that wrote over her features transformed almost instantly into an odd mix of pain and anxiety. If he looked closely, he swore he saw fear in her eyes. Still, she looked wonderful, and it tortured him. She still wore her hair in the same hazel-coloured curls, and her eyes were still half-brown, but magically green in the sunlight. She looked the same as the woman who haunted his dreams, and he quietly resented her for it.

He had written this scene a million times in his head, until at last her face had almost transformed into a blur and vague sting. Yet, none of it could have prepared him for this moment. He did not know how, but he felt knocked out of air and brought back to life at the same time.

Slowly, he regained strength in his legs to move upwards, taking one more step towards her. She mimicked by descending another step.

They met each other in the middle of the flight of stairs. She was closer to him than she ever was in five years. He stopped a few levels beneath her because he was afraid that if he went any closer she would disappear like a mirage.

They regarded each other in silence for a while, but in his mind cacophony rose into a crescendo until he almost expected to explode. She looked about her in discomfort, while his heart was about to ram out of his chest. Adrenaline coursed through his bloodstream. He could not tell if he was relieved or pained at her presence. He did not know if he wanted to kiss her or run away. He wished a big yellow school bus would just come crashing into them already.

Rick waited a few more beats, but the bus did not come.

Instead, Kate's eyes flickered from his eyes, to his mouth, to away from him, and back to eyes again, as she said, "I… uh, I'm going to be late. Will you give me a call?"

She reached into her bag, and fumbled for a bit, before pulling out an old-looking card. "The number is the same."

After pressing the card into his palms, she backed away from him, as if in flustered panic. Slowly, she continued on the path she was on, before their collision. He took a few more steps up the staircase, his mouth dry and his head whirling.

He allowed a moment to pass where he felt his gut clenched so hard it was beginning to hurt, before he turned around again to watch her retreating back. Still, he felt like he has lost the capacity to breathe.

Looking around him, he realised the city was beginning to awaken. Of all the people, of all the street corners, of all the mornings, it had to be her, it had to be here, and it had to be today.

Who was he kidding? This was New York City. This was bound to happen.

_The spaces in between_

_Two minds and all the places they have been_

_The spaces in between_

_I tried to put my finger on it_

_I tried to put my finger on it_

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><p><em><strong>Author's Note: Hi there! I do not peruse the main page of Castle fanfiction, so I'm not sure how popular FLO-inspired fics are, but this has been in my head for a while. Even before the movie, I have wanted to write something of Castle and Beckett meeting like this after years of separation. The film only spurred me on, because the moment Yves and Sofia meet is just so gut wrenching and beautiful. So, I'm not sure what this little chapter will amount to, but I will be glad to continue if the popular opinion wishes it so. <strong>_


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

The mist of the morning was beginning to dissipate as the sun reached out triumphantly, its brightness only accompanied by the chilly winter air. It was a pleasant morning, and more and more New Yorkers streamed out into the streets to enjoy a rare day of ease during this cold season.

Kate joined the rest of the city as she strolled quickly away from the staircase where she collided with Rick, enjoying none of the cool weather. On the inside, mad winds battered against her heart, as if a Russian winter threatened to uproot her. The peace of the New York streets was jarring when she considered the implosion of feelings within her. Disaster should strike. People should panic. The world should react to the war in her gut. She felt like her lungs were squeezing the air out of her, and her throat hurt from trying to catch a breath. Of all the times she had imagined meeting Rick on a street corner or picking up a phone call from him, she had not counted on this much anxiety, this much nervousness, and oh God, this much desperation. But, no, the world stepped quietly by to grab a cup of coffee before work.

She had not realised until now that she had forgot the magical and precise way his eyes always seemed to be twinkling, and the curve of his lips always seemed to be developing a smile. Except, today when she saw him, there was no hint of a smile anywhere, not on his lips, not in his eyes, not even in the way he regarded her. She immediately missed the times during their partnership that her mere presence brought about his cheeky grin, or when their banter impressed upon him an awed smile, as if he did not realise someone who could match him in his games of verbal sparring could ever exist.

He had seemed thinner. Her heart sank into a strange ache at this thought.

It had been five whole years. She always envisioned him to be living it up in Los Angeles, reaping the rewards of his well-loved characters being immortalised in popular culture. It had been five whole years. She cannot even begin to fathom how much has changed in those years. Even some buildings and shops in New York do not last five years. People moved in and out of her life, while she moved away from previous places she claimed to be home. Yet, one thing had remained the same – every twist and turn was merely a straight line back to Richard Castle.

He had it easier, Kate had thought, on multiple occasions. Every time Kate passed a coffee place, every time she entered a bookstore, when she flipped through page six of the papers, even when she sat in the vast emptiness of her car, her mind will inevitably jump to the image of a particular writer, as if in a reflex arc. He had branded his own reflex arc in her body, much as he claimed her heart to be his – not his, but his. Yet, she thought, perhaps this was why he moved to LA in the first place, because New York was soaked in the other's smell, and painted with the other's face.

Kate would then laugh mirthlessly at such a thought. How could she believe for a second his thoughts mirrored hers? That she haunted his dreams and his daylight, just because he occupied hers, that she was the first thing he became conscious of in the morning and the last thing to contemplate before bed, just because he was for her?

Of course not. She had stumbled upon pictures in the papers of Rick and various socialites on his arm, like pieces of jewellery. She had pretended not to care, the way she pretended with everything else, with everyone else. After a while, a large enough part of her had withered away that she no longer searched for the Rick she once knew, the Rick she once loved. Any hope was pointless, and should be snuffed out. Just take a look at the evidence, her detective mind insisted.

Five whole years. Kate sighed, her soul weary. All she knew was to keep walking and walking. Soon, she reached a quaint little coffee place that was at once familiar and comforting to her. She pushed the doors in, embracing the sudden warmth of the surroundings and overwhelming smell of cocoa beans.

Kate had been frequenting this coffee house near her new workplace since she left the homicide department of the 12th Precinct. Missing Castle and the coffee he brought, and aching from all the intricacies and losses that accompanied her mother's case, Kate had left all vestiges of her life at the 12th behind, determined to carve out new paths and make new memories. This cosy coffee place was part of her effort to create a new life, to replace her association of coffee with Rick to this little shop, just as she replaced the warm sense of satisfaction of putting killers behind bars with the thrill of catching kidnappers and saving little children.

After her disastrous separation with Castle five years ago, Detective Beckett had requested a transfer and had been granted a position at the major crimes department of the 8th Precinct, dealing almost specifically with kidnapping cases. The fact that she was familiar with this work prior to her stint at the homicide department only made the transition smoother. Somehow, Kate felt that working kidnapping cases again could help make up for, if not erase, that particular case she worked with Sorenson eight years ago. It felt like the first step towards recuperating, towards mending the mistakes she had made at the 12th and with Rick. It did not signal much, but for Kate, the thought of helping to protect the children of New York helped her get out of bed every day.

Her quest to replace memories of Castle with parts of her new life had seemed to be increasingly effective as years went by. Time was no healer, Kate had known from the beginning, since the ache of her mother's murder did not lessen so much as it merely became dull, just as the loss of Rick burnt a hole in her being that was still gaping. Yet, time acted as an antiseptic, and it numbed her wounds. Perhaps it was not recovery, but it was enough.

"Detective Beckett!" A familiar female voice chimed, as Kate found the source of the voice behind the counter. Charlotte, the full-time owner and part-time barista of this coffee house, grinned at her without reservations. She was a young girl with brunette curls and unparalleled optimism. "A little later than usual today," Charlotte chided in a friendly manner.

Kate smiled, Charlotte's kind demeanour releasing the iron grip on her heart just a little bit. She walked up to the counter, her eyes on the familiar menu written on chalk above. "Yeah," she acknowledged, "There was an accident this morning."

"Accident? Are you injured?" Charlotte's eyes widened in shock, and her eyes traveled up and down to ensure Kate's safety.

"No, no, I'm fine, don't worry. It was an accident of a different sort." Kate's eyes lowered.

"Oh," Charlotte nodded slowly, as if in understanding. She inspected Kate's expression for a while, before she smiled again, "The usual for you?"

"Yup, a tall skinny latte with two pumps." Kate said, and she wondered if Charlotte would detect the wistfulness in her voice. She wondered if Charlotte knew that this was the coffee Rick always brought her. She wondered if Charlotte saw the way Kate was remembering the first day Rick handed her breakfast. "In my dreams, you're never jealous. In my dreams, you just join in." She had a shoved a bear claw into his mouth then, unaware that five years later she would never order that pastry again.

As much as Kate had wanted to erase images of Rick and replace his presence with new things in her life, if she were honest with herself, she also wanted to hold on to everything Castle, go over his shadow in her life with a big bold marker and outline it until the paper breaks. How could she want to let go and preserve parts of him at the same time? Her profound lack of understanding of her heart was only matched by the inexplicable nature of her pain at his absence. She wanted him, but hated him, craved him, but rejected him. Some days she would rejoice at how she was finally feeling okay, until her consciousness became punctured with pieces of him. It was a joke, her self-proclaimed effort to move on.

Everything reminded her of him.

"Detective Beckett?" Charlotte's voice made Kate realise she has been holding out the cup of coffee for a while. Kate took it quickly, reaching into her pocket, when Charlotte waved it off, "It's on the house."

"Really, Charlotte," Kate smiled, half-teasing, half-grateful, "With the way you do business around here, I'm worried for you."

Charlotte chuckled, her eyes bright, "Only for you, Detective."

"Thank you," Kate said sincerely, "Really."

Charlotte only beamed, saying nothing, as Kate made a move towards the door.

"Figured you could use the caffeine, and the warmth." Obeying that reflex arc he owned within her, Rick's voice echoed in her head. She stood and closed her eyes for a moment, as she suddenly felt the tight circumference of his arms around her in that freezer, the way people still felt their limbs even after they were amputated. She had thought with so much clarity then that she was going to die. She remembered thinking that doing so in his arms was not such a poor way to go.

Straightening her shoulders, Kate opened her eyes to the world again. For a fleeting moment, she wondered if he would call. What was he doing back here in New York City?

Finally, control of her legs seemed to regain itself, and Kate joined the rest of the city in the cold, as she continued her walk to work.

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><p>They sat across each other, bursting with so much to say that they settled for saying nothing at all. Their cups of coffee turned cold from neglect, while the discomfort in the pits of their stomach expanded like wildfire.<p>

Kate stared at her cup and saucer for such a long time that it was a wonder she had not memorised the pattern on the china. Yet, she stared without registering. In fact, she could not take in anything except for Rick. His presence blanketed her senses, his scent drowned her while his eyes pierced through her. She felt like if she could breathe, she would vomit.

All at once, she begged herself to say something – anything. _How was LA? Are you writing? Are you writing about me? Are you missing New York yet? Have you forgiven me? Have you forgiven you? What are you thinking? Where are you going? Why are you here? _

These questions gathered at the back of her throat like a series of chain car crashes, and if she did not puncture the silence soon, she felt like she was going to implode, or the world around them was going to shatter from the silence that grew like an invisible poisonous gas. So, she rose her head, her eyes searching for his. Rick's blue eyes were almost grey, so unlike the clear determined blue she was used to. They devoured her, almost expressionless, and she felt suddenly self-conscious, so she spat out in a hurry, "I didn't think you would call."

Rick nodded slowly, as if savouring the words he was about to say. "I had to," he said simply, his eyes transfixed upon her. She used to catch him staring at her like this, perhaps less intense, less in pain, but always with something she could not quite decide was contemplation or awe. She used to call him creepy, but she silently pondered his looks, the way she mulled over his words. _Always_, he had promised with a sincerity that could move felons.

Then, she had shoved him to the edge of _always_ and pushed him further, only to realise his fall would never bring him back. What more did she want from him? She did not know. She only knew that she got in the way of her own loving, and even got in the way of his loving her. She understood this now, but five years ago, she had been consumed with rage because she had fallen so far down the rabbit hole, Rick would not have been able to save her. In fact, he had reached with all his might, but she had let go of his arm, just to see how far down she will drop, just so she can finally reach the ground. If only she was Alice though, and there was a bottle that yelled "Drink me", or a cake that demanded to be eaten. She would gladly take any instructions now that did not stem from the Russian winter that raged in her heart, as steely as his eyes.

His eyes seem to soften suddenly, and he spoke again, "How are you?"

"I'm good," Kate responded instinctively, pausing to wonder if she should elaborate. "I'm no longer working homicide at the 12th."

"Oh," Rick said in surprise, "I see."

Kate blinked at him, bringing her chin to rest on the back of her left hand. She was determined not to let silence overpower them again, so she would not need to listen to the pounding in her head. Their silence was jarring to her, because words were their weapons. "How are you?"

"I'm doing well too," Rick responded with so much politeness it almost hurt. His face contorted into what he probably thought was a smile, but it looked more like a grimace. Rick was always horrible at concealing his emotions. Again, she felt like she could barf, so she continued.

"Ryan left the 12th as well. He went back to the Narc department. Esposito is still there, and I think he is doing well." She smiled, and he did too, as they remembered their little tight-knit family that had since fallen like ragged dolls.

The corner of Rick's eyes and the lines of his forehead creased as he smiled, and Kate was alarmed to find how much older he looked now. She resisted the urge to touch the lines on his face, like cracks in a ceramic vase. "I've had some contact with Esposito," he said, his eyes exploring the expression on her face. "He seems to be doing well under the new Captain."

"Oh," She said simply. _Why didn't you keep in contact with me?_ She wanted to ask, but did not. He sensed her question even before it reached her tongue, and his eyes hardened. _It would have been too much_, he wanted to say. _It would have been too much, and I would have come crawling back to you. _

Kate could only hang on to the words that spilled out of her mouth next, "Yes. The new Captain's management style is slightly different. Ryan didn't like it, but Esposito – Esposito saw it as a challenge."

"And you?"

"I uh, I needed Montgomery."

They stared at each other, both realising too late they had been prying open a can bursting with worms. It was never the same after that night in the hangar.

So, they sat across from each other, throats filled with please-forgive-mes, hearts full of whys and hows and lungs choked on if-onlys.

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><p><em><strong>Hi there! So, I researched NYPD departments since Kate transferring is part of my story, and I realise the 12th is a fictional precinct. So, the 8th Precinct mentioned here is fictional too. Please forgive the inconsistencies with the organisation of the NYPD, if there are any. Did anyone catch the few references to another amazing show Pushing Daisies?<strong>_

_**Thanks for your amazing feedback on this little piece. I will definitely continue to work on it, but it will not be a long fic at all. Oh and to the readers of my other stories, I'm sorry for the temporary lack of updates. I'm afraid I'm going overseas for a while, so the next update on all my fics won't be any time soon. Still, stay tuned and thank you so much for your support! Reviews validate the writer, as always. **_


	3. Chapter 3

**Previously in Chapter Two of Bloodstream…**

They sat across each other, bursting with so much to say that they settled for saying nothing at all.

.

.

.

"And you?"

"I uh, I needed Montgomery."

They stared at each other, both realising too late they had been prying open a can bursting with worms. It was never the same after that night in the hangar. So, they sat across from each other, throats filled with please-forgive-mes, hearts full of whys and hows and lungs choked on if-onlys.

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><p><strong>Chapter Three <strong>

Another bout of aching silence enveloped their table. Kate could not think about Montgomery without a scalding pain in her stomach. She saw in Rick's piercing eyes that he fared no better. She wondered if he was reliving their Captain's death, the eerie ring of gunshots, or if he thought about her getting shot at the podium. He dove towards her, she remembered. In all the pain that turned into numbness, she remembered he dove towards her. For a long while, that was enough. And then it wasn't. She realised it never was.

Rick's clouded blue eyes were an agony for Kate to meet, so she stared at the movements of the coffee barista behind him. He was shaking a chilled silver capsule of a beverage. Then, he was pouring the brown contents into a glass. She remembered the day she found the files in Rick's locked drawer. Her guilt at sneaking around was drowned by the fury that consumed her so entirely that she had felt she was all fire and nothing else. The barista cleaned the glass with a worn cloth. The files had images of Raglan, Mcallister, her mother, her, Rick. Montgomery sent it. Blending another beverage while taking the bagel out of the oven. The barista leaned against the counter as he took a short break. Looking up, he met Kate's troubled gaze in surprise.

She squeezed her eyes tight in response, as if the weight of another person's eyes was simply too much, and all the images of that day flew to her mind like magnets to a refrigerator. Five years ago, Kate had sat in his office chair, the one he wrote in, as she devoured the contents of those files with the trained eye of a detective. She had a name.

She could not bear his betrayal of hiding such information from her. And she could not bear _her_ betrayal of suspecting and confirming her theory that he had such information.

But now she had a name. Her heart grew and pounded and filled her chest. She could not breathe but she had never felt more alive. It was pain, though. It was pain, and not relief, that expanded in her heart like poisonous gas. In retrospect, her discovery of those incriminating files had felt too much like being shot at Montgomery's funeral. She became her searing pain until the anguish turned into numbness, so invisible she almost missed it. It was in this haze of numbness that she collected the files together and stacked them neatly on Rick's desk, as an indication that she has read them.

She took the most vital piece of information, a bank account that was now burned into her brain, and opened an investigation. She refused to stop even when the new Captain asked her what she was doing.

"Kate?"

She suddenly felt a sense of warmth over her hand. "You ok?"

Kate opened her eyes, to find Rick has leant forward to reach her hand in her lap. The proximity of his face startled her, and her heart pumped like an overrun engine. He looked so tired, as if he had aged ten years. Yet, his eyes, clouded and hardened as they were, returned to being the concerned ones she was familiar with.

Warmth bloomed in her chest and she felt for the first time today contented.

"You ok?" Rick repeated, his eyes knowing. In that moment, she knew that he too was haunted by the events of the past that brought them together and tore them apart.

It was like all of a sudden she could remember that she was carrying a kind of heaviness around with her every day that could not be cured or dissipated. She had been living with it for so long that she had forgot.

Kate swallowed, "Yes, yes I am." She lowered her head to stare at the contact of their hands. He followed her gaze and quickly released her, leaning back on his seat. Clearing his throat, he whispered an apology, as if his holding her hand was the last thing in the world she wanted. Perhaps it was, since it made her giddy, like falling down the rabbit hole.

As Rick sat heavily against the back of his chair, he allowed himself to truly inspect Kate Beckett, to carefully examine the muse who occupied his consciousness for so many years. She was worn and small. She was still the tall intimidating police officer who took on the world and stood on her shoulders, but she was also worn and small. There was a hint of vulnerability that flickered in her greenish brown eyes once in a while. It disappeared as quickly as it came, but Castle caught it every time, and he craved to know her thoughts.

He was suddenly overcome with a desire to reach out to her, to touch her, to hold her in his arms. Skin against skin. Bodies melded. Hearts adjacent. Looking at Kate flooded him with want, and now his whole being ached, his heart impregnated for so long with her absence, yet with the current temptation of her presence. He thought of artists and their muses, friends with their wives, enduring love stories, and his own fleeting relationships. What could it take for him to be happy again? He thought of the potentiality of happiness. The thought of a life with Kate was just so unreal that he almost could not bear to think it. And yet… and yet, it was only his first afternoon back in New York City, and here she was. Here Kate was.

Folding her arms in front of her, Kate hugged herself, reminding Rick of how she was always so good at self-preservation. She looked cold. In fact, she looked like she has been cold for a few years, that she never quite recovered from hypothermia, not from that one time they were stuck in the freezer, but from their last collision, their final confrontation, and his abrupt departure. How did they leave themselves in such a mess of pain?

"Are you cold?" "So, what are you doing back in New York?"

They spoke simultaneously, and stopped. Rick smiled wryly while Kate glanced up in surprise. She said, "No, I'm fine," adding a little smile to reassure him. Rick was reminded of the last matchstick of the little girl who sold matches on a winter night.

He replied, "I'm meeting my editors and publishers. They want to know why I haven't been writing."

"What's new," Kate said almost naturally, chuckling in spite of herself. Rick's eyes brightened at the sound of her laughter, and he laughed too, although he could only concentrate on the way she dipped her head as her face broke so beautifully into a smile, as if simultaneously embarrassed and surprised at her action. He had forgot the magical twist of his heart as it lightened, when he managed to squeeze a laugh out of her, the way the millions of balloons lifted the old man's house.

"Actually," Rick pursed his lips, "It's true. I haven't had such a writer's block since-"

"Since Nikki Heat?"

"Since you."

A beat passed, as Rick felt short of breath, while Kate's eyes carefully held his.

Rick was the first to speak again, "Are you… um… are you currently…"

"With anyone?"

He nodded, feeling transported back to the halls of high school asking his prom date out, only this time the very condition of his heart was at stake.

Kate shook her head, "No, no one."

Rick tried to ignore the insanity of the realm of possibilities that just exploded in his head. His sense of self-preservation was losing an unfought battle against his capacity for hope. Romantic readiness, Fitzgerald would call it. Only, Kate was no Daisy. Kate was solid. She was substantial. She was real. She was once his. But they also had a shared tragedy that even Gatsby might shirk away from.

He wanted to hold her. He wanted to offer her his everything at her feet again.

Instead, he said, "Me too."

He wondered if they would ever be the same again.

"How long are you here for?" She breathed.

"It was only going to be for two days."

"Going to be?"

"Right now, I'm not too sure."

She nodded mutely, her expression unreadable.

How was it that when he was away from her, Rick could not bear the thought of her at all, and yet now that she sat with a table between them, all he wanted was Kate again? He could not fathom at the incredible reckless stupidity of his heart. All he knew was that he missed her. Even right now, barely away from her, he missed her. He could never blame her, could never resent her, could never hate her for the misery of these past five years. He had been living like he was made of ash. But today, he saw the possibility of making his life full like poetry again.

Full like poetry.

"Kate," he leant forward in his chair again, taking her hand again, this time grasping tightly. "Kate, what would it take for things between us to be repaired?"

Her chest heaved like the room compressed around her, and her eyes darted from his eyes to his lips and back to his eyes again. Her voice shook. "I- Rick… I can't."

Instead of shrinking back into his seat like Kate thought he would, Rick only continued to hold her hand, the contact like an oasis in a desert. His continued touch seemed to be matched by the steadiness of his heart. Kate hated herself for still loving him, but even more for doubting the _always_ he had once promised her.

His eyes determined, he said, "Kate, come away with me."

"Excuse me?" Her eyebrow rose, as her heart rammed.

"Come away with me. We'll go to Europe, somewhere, I don't really care. We just- we should go away together."

She let out a dismissive laugh, "You're insane, Castle."

Her use of his last name instantly struck the both of them. They stared at each other in surprise, as they were both reminded of their three years of partnership, of standing by each other, of teasing one another, of verbal sparring, of being there, of caring, of loving.

Oh God, she suddenly thought. How had she managed to go on without her partner for so long? Her chest was gripped by the vividness of her memory of him, of them, like their happiness strangled her vice-like.

"Please, Kate. Come with me."

Could she? Was it so simple?

She remembered his holding her, making sure she was safe, brushing her hair, and supporting her back.

Kate bit her lip, and squeezed Rick's hand. "I'll let you know, alright?"

* * *

><p><em><strong>So, I'm actually alive! Oh gosh guys, I really am truly sorry about this immense lack of updates for all my stories. I feel like any attempt at explanation would be an excuse, so I'm not going to try. Thank you to all of you who have continued to stay with this story, and I will try my best to update more frequently. (Also, my idea for this fic was born before the premiere, so in my story, Montgomery sent the files to Castle, and not the random Smith guy. Hope you guys got that.)<strong>_

_**In any case, if you feel the need to rush me for updates or if you just wanna drop by to say hi - here is my Tumblr name: finefrenzy-**_

**_Do drop me a message to say you're from here!_**


	4. Chapter 4

**Previously in Chapter Three of Bloodstream…**

His eyes determined, he said, "Kate, come away with me."

.

.

.

"Please, Kate. Come with me."

Could she? Was it so simple?

She remembered his holding her, making sure she was safe, brushing her hair, and supporting her back.

Kate bit her lip, and squeezed Rick's hand. "I'll let you know, alright?"

**Chapter Four**

Kate could not believe that she was actually doing this. Releasing a breath as if she has been holding it for five years, she stared warily at the silver luggage she has just filled with clothes and other travel items. This was all too surreal. Just yesterday morning she was grabbing a cup of coffee on her way to work, and today the coffee-bringing mystery writer who was no longer hers was whisking her away again. It felt difficult to breathe, like all she could inhale was him, like she was on the precipice, like he was her vertigo.

She felt a strange sense of heightened awareness, both terrifying and dazzling, like she knew she was about to fall, but the core of her fear was a rush of giddiness.

Then, the doorbell rang, a ring of finality. This is it, she thought for the thousandth time. This is it.

But what was this?

She could not tell if this was their final goodbye, or if it was a beginning that blossomed out of ash. And she could not decide which she wanted it to be.

A second ring of the doorbell caused Kate to jump from the edge of the chair she had settled on. Her heart and her head formed an inverted drum, as she walked to the door and opened it in one breath.

Rick looked up at her almost in surprise, as he slowly regarded her with those eyes that were drenched in years of exhaustion. The lines around his eyes and on his forehead were even more evident than before, and Kate resisted the magnetic pull to touch them.

"Uh, come on in," she stepped and pushed the door aside to let him in. He shifted his weight from one foot to another in hesitation before he entered her apartment. It was the same, and it was different. He felt afraid of encroaching on a space that used to be so dear to him, like he had a secret complicity with the place he did not deserve, memories that were not supposed to be his. His stomach seemed to clench in apprehension as he inspected her living room, painting the place with pictures of the past. He remembered his impromptu apartment visits, spouting theories for cases while she looked on, amused. But slowly he required fewer and fewer excuses to turn up, offering her Chinese food and his heart that ached for hers.

The same painting hung in her living room, and he felt as if it was there for him, even when he knew it was not. He always thought the painting—of the withdrawn woman protecting herself from an apocalypse around her—spoke of Beckett so strongly that he wondered if it hurt Kate to look at it and see herself.

He turned around just as she closed the door behind her, leaning against it. "I've always loved this painting," he offered.

She glanced behind him and examined the art, re-evaluating it in his eyes. He was like Daisy in Gatsby's mansion for the first time, the both of them caught in an effort to repeat the past, blinding themselves in sheer desire. Hope against hope.

Rick continued, "She gives you a sense of calm even when all else is being destroyed."

This time, his eyes pulled her in like gravity. They stood some distance away, and he felt a world away. But his eyes pierced through to her, and touched her like an electric shock. She was unhinged.

Kate knew then that she was eternally tethered to him, even when he held her without chains.

In a bid to gain some courage and to break his hold on her, she pushed herself away from the door and moved toward her luggage. _Are you sure you want to do this?_ She wanted to ask him. The words collected like rain at the back of her throat, and she rehearsed them in her mind, but her mouth would not obey.

_What are we doing? _

A few beats passed between them, where she was silent and he observant. A shroud of false comfort began to sit heavily with the both of them, the apparent serenity only accompanied by mutual turmoil. She smiled tentatively at him, and he could tell she was nervous.

"Is this all your stuff?" He spoke before she could.

"Uh, yes."

"I'll help you with that?"

"It's ok."

Their invisible blanket of peace broke at the seams the moment their hands accidentally touched from reaching for her luggage. She pulled her hand violently away as if she had been burned, and he stopped. For a moment, a shadow passed in his eyes, but he blinked, and the grey-blue returned. Clearing his throat, he lifted the luggage without waiting for her response and started toward the door.

"My car is parked downstairs," he said as he passed her.

And finally she spoke. "What are we doing?" She asked with force, her eyes vulnerable.

He half-turned, setting the luggage down again. "We're going away," he said simply.

"Yeah, but look at us!" As Kate exclaimed, she remembered their moment of shared laughter and camaraderie in the coffee house, and her gut clenched. "We can hardly act normally around each other." Part of her wishes they could, but so much of her wanted to push him away. His presence in her life was a terrible love, and she felt that if he were to touch her, she would shatter into a million pieces.

She could not do this. Going away with him? What was she thinking? Was she trying to repair them? Recover from the winter of the last five years? And yet, she could not bear the thought of not seeing him tomorrow. A sense of agony ate at her like a slow burn.

Without realising it, Rick was in front of her, standing way too close for comfort. His scent overpowered her senses, and the hold of his eyes drowned her out of breath. She had to stop herself from closing her eyes to savour the proximity that had not been for five years, as her heart crescendoed into overdrive.

Rick experienced a brief flash of desperation, and he felt like Gatsby. _Repeat the past? Why of course you can!_ His mind seemed to chant.

Then, he brushed his lips against hers gently, urgently. Kate's eyes fluttered shut involuntarily at the touch, an oasis she had not realised she thirsted for. His kiss set her body aflame, and she melted into him. It made her hungry and satiated at the same time. She held him tightly against her as she breathed him in. Her lips pressed against his in such desperation it was like pain.

When she parted her lips for him, he was wonderstruck. It was like granting him a path to her heart again. This was their second first kiss. It was like the sunset, and the ocean, and they bloomed together like a rose in a ray of light. The way she clung on to him for life. The way their hearts vibrated together. The way their bodies inevitably fit.

He was her gravity, her vertigo.

Just as she thought that, his lips left hers. She was immediately cold from the distance, and she wondered how she had gone without him for so long.

"Don't stop." Her whisper graced his lips and called for his soul.

* * *

><p>Settled in the passenger seat, Kate watched in thinly veiled delight as Rick pushed her luggage into the trunk of his black car. The feel of his lips still lingered on hers, as if she was amputated of him but still felt him. When Rick returned to the driver's seat on her left, she was leaning lazily on the door, biting her finger. He swallowed and tried to avert his gaze from her mouth.<p>

"So, where are we going?" She asked, moving her hand to tuck a wayward strand of her hazel curls behind her ear.

Rick was entranced by her movement, their kiss only deepening his ache for her.

"I was thinking we can just drive around the country." He shrugged, trying to cover his shallow breathing.

She smiled, "How very Kerouac of you."

She was radiant, and completely different from the nervous and confused wreck in her apartment. He could not help but smile too, as if hit by a ray of sun.

"We could drive up North and see where we end up."

"Well, I could be wrong, but I think, I think, we'll eventually hit Canada," she deadpanned, but the smile never left her lovely face.

"Or we could find Atlantis," he said, with the sun in his eyes.

She laughed without restraint, as he revved the engine, his eyes still on her. God, she was beautiful.

"Hmmm, Arcade Fire," she hummed, as she turned the knob to increase the volume of the music. It was only then that Rick realised 'No Cars Go' was playing on the radio.

"We know a place where no planes go. We know a place where no ships go."

Between the click of the light and the start of the dream.

* * *

><p><strong><em>Again, sorry for the late update. Your feedback would be highly appreciated! <em>**


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